


December Dreaming

by BelovedCreation



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Letters to Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:24:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5448158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedCreation/pseuds/BelovedCreation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry’s Christmas list is short - a date for his mother</p>
            </blockquote>





	December Dreaming

Killian can trace it back to that time when Belle caught sight of his notebook full of questions and observations from a Ron Chernow biography. Or perhaps when Belle suggested that particular biography for him. But Killian knows, in his heart of hearts that he can trace the event that changed his life forever to befriending Belle French, librarian, in the first place.

She possesses a sparkling energy that is as adorable as it is infectious, and a newcomer to town was hardly able to keep himself from befriending the librarian with her endless book suggestions and ability to knock back half a bottle of liquor at the Rabbit Hole when confessing her sordid romantic history. Of course, Killian had helped her with the other half, and their friendship was sealed that night when they stumbled down the street to his apartment, collapsed into bed, and both awoke in the morning with all of their clothes on and raging headaches.

From that point on, Belle had been able to get Killian to help her with all manner of library adventure, from dressing like a pirate for the summer reading program kickoff to sorting through the ton of books donated when a rich eccentric on the edge of town died and donated their library to the city.

Bar-none the most unique task that Belle wrangled Killian into was helping with the yearly Letters to Santa program, where local children dropped off letters in a mailbox by the circulation desk and letters from “Santa” are sent to the kids in response. It was Killian’s penmanship, learned at primary school in England and spotted by a nosy librarian in January, that got him the task of writing all of the responses by himself.

“Your handwriting is so lovely, Killian,” Belle had exclaimed as she ordered him another shot. Getting someone drunk and asking for favors was usually his tactic. Having the tables turned was not his preference.

“I am a busy man, love,” he grunted back.

But she had plied him with drinks and insisted that his work at the docks slowed down in the month of December (which it did, truly) and that this would be an act of service to the town of Storybrooke (which it would, begrudgingly). Finally he had agreed, more to get her off of his back than anything, and so he finds himself sitting at one of the research tables in the back, after the library has officially closed, sorting through scribbles and drawings and neatly-typed lists of present requests.

“Bloody hell,” Killian murmurs to himself before he can help it, covering his mouth and hoping Belle didn’t hear, but she turns nonetheless at the sound.

“What?”

“Just-”

Belle grabs the paper from him, sees the name at the bottom, and laughs. “Oh Henry!” Belle gives Killian a look and seems to rejoice in the way the tips of his ears go pink. “Your  _crush’s_ son.”

“I do not have a crush,” he retorts grumply, snatching the paper back and smoothing it down on the table before him.

“Liar,” Belle teases in a sing-song voice. Killian’s frown deepens but he knows it is useless to object any further. All too often Belle had seen how Killian’s eyes had followed Emma Swan as she entered the library with her son and helped him carry out another large sack. Innumerable times Belle had teased him about how his face turned red when she strode into Granny’s in that delightful leather jacket of hers and urged him to just go talk to her. But no matter how hard he had tried, his arse had remained glued to the booth and he could not manage to say anything to Miss Swan in passing more than “Hello” or “Good day.”

Perhaps it was the way she walked as though she did not need anyone’s help in her life. Or her hand that would constantly brush against the weapon on her side, as though to assure herself it was still there. But most of all, he imagines it is because he saw her spectacularly turn down a man at the Rabbit Hole the first weekend he was in town and it intimidated him so badly that his simultaneous goals became to win her affection and to stay out of her path.

He had erred on the side of the latter.

“So what does Henry want?” Belle asks, raising her eyebrow and then turning back to the drawing in her own hand. “A bike? A video game?”

“A boyfriend for his mother.”

The librarian would have choked had she been nibbling on one of the Christmas cookies in the center of the table. As it is, she coughs and her eyes go large in alarm. “He what?”

Killian slides the letter back to Belle and gestures to it. “Go ahead, read for yourself, love.”

> _Dear Santa,_
> 
> _This Christmas I don’t need any toys or anything. My mom works really hard to provide me everything that I need and even lots of things that I want. (Plus, I know there’s no Santa, but she starts crying whenever she thinks I’m growing up too fast, so that’s why I’m putting this letter in the mailbox.)_
> 
> _So what I want for Christmas, dear person who reads these letters and responds to them, is for my mom to get a date this December. She says that she doesn’t need another guy in her life, but I can tell she is lonely. My dad really hurt her and she doesn’t think she can trust anyone even though I know every guy isn’t like my dad. Do you know of anyone who might want to date her? He’s got to be loyal and hardworking and honest. He has to see how awesome my mom is and it would probably be good if he liked 11-year olds like me. I promise that I wouldn’t cause too much trouble if only the guy really loved my mom._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Henry Swan_

It takes a few minutes before Belle can speak again, and even then it seems as though she is at a loss for words. “What- what- what do we say to that?” she asks, finally, meeting Killian’s gaze in clear befuddlement.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” he replies. “Aren’t you the expert?”

Belle shrugs and slides the paper back his way. “Tell him you’ve been crazy about his mom for years and that you’d love to go on a date with her.”

“Belle!” Killian’s face flushes again. “I cannot do that!”

“Why not? He knows there’s no Santa.” She points to the page. “He says it right there.”

Killian frowns and examines the paper carefully again. “That does not seem ethical.”

Belle sighs. “Then you figure it out. I trust you.”

Privately, Killian believes that is a mistake.

* * *

 

> _Dear Henry,_
> 
> _That is quite the letter I received from you! But I am sorry to say that you have reached out to the wrong holiday deity. Santa does not grant romantic requests of this nature. He can inspire you with peace and hope or bestow gifts, but arranging dates is more in Saint Valentine’s purview._
> 
> _I wish I could help, lad, but if your mother does not want to date, then no matter of scheming will do any good. It might be better to tell her yourself of your wishes for her and offer your blessings on whichever lucky man happens to catch her eye. And if such a man is truly worthy of her love, he will recognize the bright, compassionate young man that you are and care for you as well._
> 
> _Are you sure that you do not want a video game? I have loads of them here in the North Pole._
> 
> _-Santa Claus_

* * *

 

Killian actually witnesses Henry place his next letter in the mailbox a few days later, looking around surreptitiously and sneaking it in when his mother is returning a stack of his books and movies. Henry notices Killian watching him, narrows his eyes, and relaxes when Killian offers an innocent wave from his place restacking books. He is eager to go through the latest crop of letters that evening with Belle, and his eyes zero in on the simple notebook paper folded in half.

> _Dear “Santa”_
> 
> _Mom says she doesn’t want to date, but then I see her watching romantic comedies and checking out romantic books at the library and staring at my Uncle David and Aunt Mary Margaret and I know she wants to be with someone like that. She’s just having a hard time taking a leap of faith._
> 
> _Are you sure you can’t help me? What if I guarantee she’ll be alone at Granny’s this Friday night? Can you send someone to talk to her? You work here in the library or for the city or something so you have to see lots of people and know what they’re like. I see how there are lots of guys who look at my mom because she’s so pretty and a badass (don’t tell her I said that word). Maybe you know one of them who might really like her. If she can just go on one date maybe she won’t be so scared to fall in love again._
> 
> _I get that you might not want to help me, but I figure Christmas is a time for miracles and I think that’s what I need to get my mom to fall in love._
> 
> _-Henry Swan_

* * *

 

> _Henry_
> 
> _Alright I will get someone to speak to her. Have your mother to Granny’s by six o’clock._
> 
> _-Santa_

* * *

 

Killian’s hands are shaking around his mug of coffee, an annoying habit he wishes he could stop, but somehow he imagines that sitting on his hands will not make him look attractive in Sheriff Swan’s eyes, so he takes a few deep breaths to calm his nerves.

She walks into the diner a three minutes past six and looks around, clearing searching the packed eatery for her son. What she finds instead is that no tables or booths are open on this Friday night and the waitress Ruby crossing over to whisper something to her.

Miss Swan frowns and it appears as though her son told her he would be arriving at the diner when, in fact, he would not be.

Killian takes another deep breath, clenches his jaw, and stands up to finally speak to the lovely blonde with fire in her eyes and sunshine in her smile.

“Excuse me? Miss Swan?”

She starts at the sound of his voice and turns to face him, eyes widening, gaze meeting his before looking him over. Killian’s face turns a bit pink at that, wondering if she likes what she sees, but when she makes eye contact with him again and raises her brow, he imagines she is waiting for him to speak again.

“Do you need a place to sit? I have plenty of room at my table.” He gestures to his booth, empty save his cup of coffee and the abandoned menu. The sheriff looks at the table, bottom lip between her teeth, and then opens her mouth in what is sure to be a dismissal before the waitress cuts her off.

“She’d love to.” Emma glares at Ruby. “If I know Emma, she has nothing in her fridge and she’s starving. Just sit down, Ems. Its not a date.” With a shove on the woman’s shoulder, Ruby pushes her in the direction of the booth. Emma stumbles almost in indignation, but still seats herself in the vacant seat and gives Killian a pleasant enough look when he joins her.

“Have you ordered yet?”

“No. I was having a difficult time deciding among Granny’s newest specials.”

A slender finger reaches across the menu and taps a picture. “My son got the cheeseburger chili the other day and he’s been raving about it ever since.”

Killian snaps the menu closed and gives her a grin, energized when she returns it with a small smile. “Then it is decided.” He turns the menu around and offers it to her. “Do you need to look?”

“Nah.” Emma picks up the menu only to set it back down. “I always get the same two things. Either a patty melt or a grilled cheese. Always with onion rings.”

This is the first information that Emma has voluntarily told him - one of the first things she has mentioned in their first real conversation together.  It brings a frown to his face and he lifts the menu again. “Afraid to try something new?” Her eyes widen and she blinks, and at the last minute he is able to morph his frown into something resembling a leer, a mask to cover up his confusion and an apprehension in his stomach. “Afraid you will like it?”

“No,” she retorts rather coldly. “I just know what I like. Why mess that up?”

“Ah, but things change. The world changes.” He holds the menu closer to her, daring her to take it. “You might be surprised what you will find if you take a chance, love.”

Emma blinks at him again, mouth twisting and no doubt preparing for a retort, when Ruby returns with a pad of paper and a wide grin to interrupt once again (blessedly).

“Ready to order?”

“Yes please,” Killian answers before Emma can reply. “I will be taking the cheeseburger chili with a side of pasta salad and Miss Swan will have the chicken bacon melt with a side of sweet potato fries.”

Emma makes a low sound of rage in her throat, shoulders tensing and fingers gripping the edge of the table as though about to leap over it and strangle him with her bare hands, but Ruby gives her a fond look after scribbling down their orders.

“Something new for a change, Em?” Ruby looks significantly at Killian, then back to her red-faced friend. “I approve.”

The sheriff’s weak cries of “Wait! Ruby!” are drowned out by the hum of conversation in the crowded diner. She has been trapped into a meal she didn’t ask for with a man she didn’t want to be with. Killian feels simultaneously delighted and guilty.

“What the hell was that all about?”

“Just urging you to try something new,” he quips back. Killian takes a sip of his coffee, glad to realize that the shaking in his hands has ceased, and uses the beak in eye contact to regain his composure.

“Next thing I know you’re gonna be asking me out.”

His eyes shoot to hers at that, peering over the coffee cup, wondering what on earth she means by that. “Is that a request, love?”

Emma snorts. “No.”

“Could have fooled me.” Killian lowers the cup and purses his lips, letting the dark, rich flavor linger on his tongue before swallowing.

“I’m just used to men thinking they can walk all over me and get me to do things I don’t want to do.”

“I want nothing of the sort, Sheriff Swan. Just take a bite of the club sandwich. If you think it is atrocious, then I shall pay for it in full and never bother you again.”

Her eyes narrow. “And if I like it?”

The grin that spreads across his face cannot be helped, despite how hard he is biting the inside of his cheek. “Go out with me.”

Emma groans, loud enough that the table behind her peers over in confusion. Had she made such a ruckus as Ruby departed with her order, she might have been able to stop her before it was brought to the kitchen. “Why am I not surprised?” Killian only shrugs. “Dude, I don’t even know you.”

“On the contrary,  _Sheriff_.” He emphasizes the title and she turns a little pink at the word. “I imagine you have access to all sorts of information in your office. I daresay you know me better than I know myself.”

Her jaw clenches for only a moment, eyes wandering over his shoulder and face most definitely blushing a beautiful bright pink now, and she mumbles a series of facts about himself. “Killian Jones. Born 1982 in a London hospital. One brother still residing in London. Works as the harbormaster and volunteers at the library where his girlfriend Belle French works. Has resided at 1904 Barrie Ave since 2012.”

When he recovers from the shock that the beautiful, passionate Sheriff Swan has memorized so many facts about his life, Killian manages to quirk an eyebrow and bring his hands together in soft applause. Emma is almost red now and Ruby swings by the table with two cups of water just in time for her to take a large gulp.

“Excellent job, love. I knew you had it in you.” Killian rests one arm on the back of the booth beside him and brings the other hand close to where she is clutching her water glass with both fists. “But wrong on one account.”

Emma looks up sharply. Her face is fading back to that light gold shade again. “What’s that?”

“I am not, nor have I ever been, dating Belle French. We are merely friends.”

It takes another gulp of her water before she makes eye contact with him again. “Good to know.”

“That leaves me free to take you out on that date when you fall in love with the chicken bacon club.”

She rolls her eyes but it has lost some of its spark. Killian, for his own part, is lost in crazy imaginings that Emma Swan has only been avoiding him because she believed him attached to another woman. It seems ludicrous, but he cannot miss the way her shoulders have loosened a bit and she looks at him carefully, appraising him.

He teases her a bit and lets her know he has some idea of her own information, though lacking in birthdates and siblings, and she fills him in with broad strokes. The conversation has dwindled by the time Ruby arrives with two full plates and a grin.

“Enjoy,” she chirps and bounces away.

Killian watches Emma carefully, leaning across the table as she rolls her eyes before taking a bite of the sandwich. For a long, horrible moment, as he watches her chew and frown, he wonders what will happen if she really does not care for his favorite of Granny’s dishes. But when she licks a bit of the sauce out of the corner of her mouth and rolls her eyes again, he knows that he has won.

“What time should I pick you up next Friday night, Sheriff?”

Emma grunts before taking another, much larger, bite, and he waits for her to swallow rather patiently. When she does, she takes a drink of her water as though specifically seeking to torture him, and then smiles sarcastically.

“Seven. And for god’s sake call me Emma.”

* * *

 

> _Dear Santa,_
> 
> _I don’t know how you found this guy, but you pulled off a Christmas miracle! Mom’s already told me four times that she will call off her date if I’m uncomfortable, but she says it in the same way she tells me that I can take the last packet of hot chocolate mix and she’ll just have coffee but I know she really wants the hot chocolate and she just feels bad for saying it._
> 
> _Last night I caught her staring at her closet and saying to herself, “What am I going to wear?” over and over again, which she has never worried about before. This is going to be awesome!_
> 
> _-Henry Swan_
> 
> _ps: Tell her date that she says she doesn’t like cheesy things but she totally does._

* * *

 

> _Dear Henry,_
> 
> _Her date is just as nervous and just as excited._
> 
> _-Santa_
> 
> _ps: He likes red._

* * *

 

She is wearing red when he opens the door after his knock, something soft and silky that falls right below her knees and accentuates her lovely figure. Emma appears speechless for a moment as she surveys the single red rose he holds out for her, and then her mouth closes and she nods at him.

“Miss Swan, you look lovely.”

“Thanks.” Her hand reaches for the flower and she pauses. “Is this for-”

“Of course.” Emma takes the flower, smiles softly as she takes in its scent, and sets it down on the counter beside her. From the other side of the living room, Killian detects a movement and then a wild mess of brown hair appears, attached to a precocious 11-year-old.

Henry takes him in, from his dark grey peacoat to the bits of snow clinging to his hair, and lets out some air through his nose. “You work at the library,” he says, simply. Killian nods and quirks an eyebrow. Henry shakes his head slightly and Killian imagines he has put two and two together. “You’ll show my mom a good time?”

“Henry!” Emma’s face is starting to resemble her dress but Killian only chuckles and waves her off.

“That is fine. I assure you, lad, I will take good care of your mother and return her to you safe and sound.”

Emma has pulled on a thick woolen coat before Killian could help her and she dramatically wraps a scarf around her neck while giving her son a severe look.

“Call me if you need anything. Don’t eat too much junk food. And I will be home before bed.”

“Stay out as late as you want!” Henry shouts at them before Emma closes the door. “Get in some trouble!”

She rolls her eyes. “My son thinks me going on a date is a Christmas miracle.” Her tone is sarcastic but her eyes are bright and her cheeks are flushed. It is obvious that she is as excited as he is and the thought makes him grin.

“It just may be.” Killian offers her his arm, which she takes a little awkwardly, and he sweeps his other hand forward. “Your carriage awaits, m’lady.”

“Whoa.”

Killian watches her take in the actual carriage, piled high with blankets and manned by his friend in a top hat and old-fashioned tails. Two pure white horses stand patiently and beautifully waiting to take them on a journey. Emma’s mouth opens again, eyes wide, and then her fingers tighten on his arm and she finally turns to him.

“Like a literal carriage?”

“A literal carriage.”

She looks like a child, almost, piled under the thick, soft blankets, and she lets out a little giggle he never could have imagined coming from the sharp-tongued sheriff. “You just did this to get me to cuddle with you,” she teases, burrowing down deeper.

“On the contrary, love,” he retorts, grinning innocently. “That is what the blankets are for. And I have a supply of those hand and feet warmers if you need any.”

“Bet he woulda mind cuddlin’ wit you though, Sheriff,” says their driver, accompanied by an amused chuckle, but Killian only leans forward to poke him in the back.

“Quiet, Scarlet. This isn’t your date.”

Will grumbles occasionally on their ride through the streets of Storybrooke, filling them in on unwanted gossip and uncomfortable stories of residents, but mostly Emma and Killian ignore him and focus on pointing out particularly beautiful light displays. Emma likes the ones that are simple and serene, with glittering white, while Killian prefers some of the more dazzling and gaudy decorations. When going past his own home, she snorts at the technicolor reindeer in his lawn.

Eventually, Will leads them to the edge of town, to the stable where Killian got their transportation from. Will detaches the horses and leads them into the stable, leaving Emma and Killian alone in the dark.

“Is this the part where you kill me?” Emma fake-whispers. He can clearly make out her frown in the moonlight. It is a gentle one, though, nothing serious or actually unhappy.

“Patience, love.”

She huffs again and looks around, obviously not used to the virtue, and then a dazzling light hits the side of the stable and sound comes blaring out of the Bluetooth speaker perched under the driver’s seat.

The Paramount logo flashes on the wall, hovering in front of a mountain, and then the opening sounds of Irving Berlin’s  _White Christmas_  come wafting out of the speakers. Killian’s heart warms with a sort of nostalgia and he turns to gage Emma’s reaction. The musical themes are playing and, to his surprise, she seems to be humming along with them, a pleasant smile on her lips and her eyes dreamy. She catches him looking and her walls go up, defensiveness in every muscle not covered in blankets.

“What?”

“Just enjoying the view.”

Emma sticks out her tongue at him, child-like, and he follow suit. She giggles again. Just as  _Christmas Eve 1944_  gets going, Will returns with a large brown paper bag, a thermos, and a small tupperware container. “Got your grub. Your keys are in your car out in the lot and I’ll come back in the mornin’ to take in the carriage.”

“Thank you, Will.” Killian takes the offered items and gives him a wink. “I’ll be sure Belle hears about how helpful you’ve been.”

Will turns a little pink and mutters “She bloody well better,” before disappearing around the stable building towards his own car.

“Belle?”

Killian opens the bag and hands her a wrapped package. “He’s been mad about her for ages but he’s worried she thinks he’s too much of a scoundrel.” The thermos is carefully balanced between his feet under the blanket and the other package is placed in his lap. “Just trying to help him out.”

“Hmmm.” Emma unwraps her sandwich and gives him a look of amused surprise. “Grilled cheese?”

He opens his own grilled cheese sandwich and taps it against her own like cheers. “This is enough new things for one night, Swan. I am trying to take it easy on you.”

* * *

 

The sandwiches and onion rings are perfect warm accompaniments to the classic film, as is the shared thermos of hot chocolate and several of Belle’s church window cookies. As his hands start to turn numb, Killian considers pulling out the hand and feet warmers, but to his utter surprise, Emma scooches across the carriage seat and roots around under the blanket until her fingers find his.

“I’m just cold,” she says by way of explaination, eyes glued to where Bob and Betty are singing about counting their blessings. “That’s all.”

Killian hides his smile and twines their fingers together, extracting one hand to wrap around her back and pull her closer. Emma comes easily, head falling against his shoulder and pressed against him from toe to hip.

She is humming along again and he can feel the vibrations. They tickle. Killian joins her in the humming and she stops for a moment, surprised, and then changes the pitch. They are humming in harmony with one another.

Emma sings the final few words and his heart warms more than any amount of grilled cheese or hot chocolate.

“And you’ll fall asleep counting your blessings.”

Bob and Betty are drawn together by the power of their song and their desire to be together, lips meeting in a sweet classic Hollywood kiss. The music swells and Killian could swear his stomach swells too.

“I know exactly what I’m going to dream about tonight,” Killian murmurs into her hair a moment after Betty exclaims it. Emma just snorts.

“Keep dreaming, Jones. I don’t kiss on the first date.”

* * *

 

She is a woman of her word, allowing him a gentle peck on the cheek before slipping into her house, leaving him slightly dizzy at her doorstep. When he had requested another date, she smiled demurely and said only if it were inside next time. He laughed and promised her such. Killian stands for a moment, contemplating what his life has become, when the door opens again and he blinks in surprise.

It is Henry, wearing plaid flannel pajamas and galoshes, a little frown on his face and arms crossed seriously. “Mr. Jones?”

“Ah.. yes, lad?”

“Are you Santa?”

“I- ah-” Killian scratches behind his ear. “Yes,” he says, finally. “I am the one answering Santa’s messages in the library.”

Killian waits for the boy to reprimand him or to accuse him of using the letters to his advantage. Instead, Henry nods and a smile breaks across his face. “Good,” he says, finally. “Mom has had a crush on you for ages. I’m glad my plan worked.” And sticking out his hand, waiting for Killian to shake it in confusion, Henry leaves him with final parting words. “Let’s not tell Mom about this, though. If I tell her I don’t believe in Santa then she might not get me the new bike I want.”

He can already tell that dating this boy’s mother will be an adventure in many, many ways.

* * *

 

They have one more date before Christmas, just a nice dinner at an Italian restaurant and a sneak peek at an artist’s exhibit coming to the library in the new year. But at the end, when he prepares to ask her for a third, she invites him to spend Christmas Day with her and her son and a few of her friends.

“It’s not a big deal,” she insists, tugging at the ring around her necklace and hinting that it really probably is. “Just kind of a get-together for us orphans.”

Killian nods, and though he has yet to discover what she means by ‘orphan’ he is excited to get the opportunity to learn. And then she kisses him, finally, hands gripping the thick woolen lapels of his peacoat and her cold nose brushing against his own as her warm lips meet his. It is soft, a little tentative, and it holds hints of promises of something bigger and more beautiful on the horizon.

* * *

 

He kisses her at the New Year’s party at his house, and she giggles, face pink and half-drunk on cheap champagne. 2016 is sure to be a banner year.


End file.
